lasting impressions and do-overs

Is it possible to retire from retirement? Last week my grandparents moved from their retirement home in the mountains to a retirement facility just one block away from my childhood home. This time it's for real -- downsizing, purging, relinquishing memories and positioning themselves closer to medical care, meals, and household assistance.

This move to Denver brings my grandparents back into the orbit of those who made such a mark on my childhood. Men and women who filled the pews on Sunday morning, and whose names filled the address book we kept by the phone. Our perpetual problem was that address books never allowed enough pages for the letter "V": VanderVeen, Vermeer, Veenstra, Verstraate, VanderHorst, VanHeukelem, Van Stelle, Vander Ploeg, Van Dusseldorp, and on it went. We managed to surround ourselves almost entirely with other Dutch families -- our Christian Reformed Church, the Christian school started by CRC families where my brother and I attended, the businesses run by CRC families, and even Dutch neighbors who, like us, had settled close to all these things.

We lived just 4 doors down from Third CRC. Stepping out the front door in the morning, we could see the brick corner of the church, with windows to the nursery where we began our childhood (and the mural our mom painted of Noah's Ark), the library where we filled our arms with Christian books, Sunday school rooms, and the consistory room where Dad participate in deacon's meetings and where I sat nervously at the big oval council table, being interviewed by a dozen men in suits before my public profession of faith. Now the men and women who used to shake our hands and pat our heads shuffle down hallways one block to the East, in that brick building that was once new, heading to meals, their frames bent and their skin too loose. Among them is our pastor from so long ago. My grandparents are their newest neighbors.

I remember Reverend Kok as tall and broad, with a booming voice. I knocked on his door once, hands trembling and gasping for breath. I had run to the parsonage with an urgent confession. While playing in the church yard mid-week, as we often did, I had broken a basement window. Looking back, I would like to give Reverend Kok a "do-over." What he ought to have said was, "Don't be afraid, Carmen. It can be fixed. It took a lot of courage to come tell me the truth. Thank you for your honesty. Well done. This mistake doesn't define you, your integrity does." What he really said was, "I hope you have plenty of money in your piggy bank." This terrified me. He didn't intend to be mean, but by the time my 10 year old feet had pounded the pavement all the way to my house almost a block away, I was a mess. The tears burst and I blubbered my confession to Dad, who told me not to worry. He could fix it, and I didn't need to pay for it. After that we didn't skateboard on the wheelchair ramp any more.

Two other memories of Reverend Kok cast him in a different light. The first showed his insecurity, perhaps. I don't remember the context of his sermon, but I remember him suggesting that none of us young people would want to become pastors when we grew up. It was almost a rhetorical question, I think. "None of you wants to be like me when you grow up. (Right?)" He meant that we probably didn't want to go into pastoral ministry. Unbidden, and without any hesitation an unspoken response welled up inside me. "Oh, but I do!" I'm not sure that I thought it was actually possible. After all, I was a little girl, not a little boy, so pastoral ministry was not an option. But I couldn't think of anything more wonderful to do with my life. Reverend Kok represented the pinnacle of vocational excellence to me. I'll never forget his angst the Sunday after televangelist Jimmy Swaggart was caught with a prostitute (mostly I remember it because he said the word "butt" from the pulpit, as in, "today we [Christians] are the butt of every joke." I still feel the shock of hearing that, almost 30 years later.).

But my favorite memory begins one Sunday morning when I was distracted during the sermon, studying the maps in the back of the pew Bibles, because they were the only pictures available. It was a New Testament map that grabbed my attention -- a New Testament map that included the city of Jericho. My little brain couldn't quite wrap itself around that one. Didn't the walls fall down? Wasn't it destroyed? At the end of the service all the grown ups filed out of the sanctuary, shaking Rev Kok's hand. I carried the pew Bible along with me, open to the map, and planted myself right beside him. Craning my little neck (I told you he was tall!), I asked if I could ask him a question. His attention divided, he kept shaking hands and nodding at folks while he listened to my question about Jericho. Then he gave me an answer I didn't expect. "I don't know, but I'll try to find out."

The next Sunday I waited impatiently until the end of the sermon. I filed out with everyone else and planted myself beside him again, intensely curious. When there were no more hands to shake he turned to me. "Well, I looked at a book on Jericho this big [here he held out a bent finger and thumb probably 3 inches apart, thoroughly impressing me], and here's what I learned. After Jericho was destroyed, it wasn't supposed to be rebuilt, but somebody did it anyway. He lost both of his sons for disobeying God, but the city has been there ever since." (See 1 Kings 16:34 for the story)

I went away with a full heart and a dawning appreciation for biblical scholarship. Rev. Kok had taken me seriously. My questions mattered. And they had answers. There were books full of them.

I wonder how instrumental that conversation was in setting me on the trajectory that led me to Wheaton. My insatiable fascination with the Bible has only grown with time. What if Rev. Kok had waved me aside and told me my question was silly? Where would I be?

My Dad spoke with Rev. Kok last week, when my grandparents were signing papers on their new apartment. Rev. Kok wanted to know if I was still a good Calvinist. (I've forgiven Dad for lying in response, as he was answering the more important question that Rev. Kok ought to have asked.) I'd like to give Rev. Kok a do-over when I make it to Denver to see my grandparents in their new home. I'd like to hear him ask, "Do you still love Jesus? Are you walking faithfully with him?" For that, my answer is a resounding "YES!"

journey to the holy land

As you read this I am boarding a plane bound for Tel Aviv, Israel. Along with 40 others, I have the privilege of assisting Daniel and Ellen Block on a 2-week Israel study tour. This is my first trip to the holy land. My main objective is to come home loaded with photos and stories to liven up my classes for decades to come.

My dear Dad, who deserves a better shirt 

Our "dream team" includes not only my doctoral mentor, but my Dad and my pastor and his wife. I'm so grateful for the opportunity to experience the land of the Bible with people I love. I probably won't blog until I return, but you are welcome to check my friend Maggie's blog for updates along the way!

full head ... full heart

Last week I succumbed to the wonderful sort of malady that strikes all who attend ETS, IBR, and SBL—mental gluttony. Falling each year on the week before Thanksgiving, ETS, IBR, and SBL are remarkably similar to that American holiday characterized by

• sitting too much, 
• eating too much, 
• gaining weight, 
• and feeling profoundly grateful. 

The primary difference between ETS/IBR/SBL and Thanksgiving is that, in the case of the former, the consumption is mental, not physical (the prices of food at most conference centers and hotels ensure that I do not overeat). The smorgasbord of papers presented on just about any topic defy description. Still, my weight gain is measured in pages, not pounds—the deep discounts offered by every major publisher are simply too much to resist. (This year's prize acquisition was HALOT for only $99!)


At ETS I attended 14 paper presentations, 5 meetings, and the annual banquet.
At IBR I attended 8 paper presentations or responses to papers.
At SBL I attended 22 paper presentations and 3 meetings.


As with previous conferences, this year was simply packed with conversations with former classmates and professors as well as publishers and scholars I know from my research and TA work for Dr. Block. These conferences bring out the most outgoing side of me. I talked personally or asked questions of 17 of the 44 presenters or moderators for sessions I attended, and stopped to meet many others whose work I had read in the past year. I could give a much longer list, but highlights included conversations with Bruce Wells, Herbert Huffmon, Andrea Weiss, Sandra Richter, Terrence Fretheim, Miles Van Pelt, Peter Vogt, William Eerdmans and John Oswalt. It's amazing to rub shoulders (literally, since some of the sessions are very crowded) with great scholars whose work has helped me immensely.

The other big highlight was having my Dad along for the day on Monday to see my world. He was a great sport, attending paper after paper on Esarhaddon's Succession Treaty and its affinity with Deuteronomy 28, and listening to conversations that must have seemed quite pedantic (such as debates over the ending of one word in Psalm 24:4). I inherited my love for learning and my knack for networking from him, though, so I think he had fun seeing "himself" in this world—so different from the world of kitchen remodeling he regularly inhabits. He's looking forward to using some of his new words (like 'prosopological exegesis') on my brother when they get to the job site Monday morning. Sorry, John. I really am.

And so on Monday evening we headed home, loaded down with new books, my head full of new insights and new stories, tremendously grateful for the gift of learning and the gift of friends. ETS, IBR, and SBL did more than fill my head. They filled my heart as well.

more lingo to know

By the time you see this I'll be well into my marathon week at ETS, IBR, and SBL. So what are they? All three are professional societies for people who hold a doctorate in Biblical Studies or a related discipline.

ETS stands for Evangelical Theological Society. It is the most narrow group of the three (theologically). Members must believe in the Trinity and in the inerrancy of the Bible. This year ETS is meeting in Milwaukee, Wisconsin from Wednesday to Friday of this week. About 2000 scholars usually attend.

IBR stands for the Institute of Biblical Research. It is an affiliate of the larger SBL. Members of IBR affirm orthodox Christianity, but in a broader sense than ETS. Wheaton has historically had a strong connection with IBR. Many of the officers and members are Wheaton professors. IBR and SBL are being held in downtown Chicago this year (from Friday afternoon to Tuesday noon).

SBL stands for the Society of Biblical Literature. It is the largest group, and its meetings are held concurrently with AAR (American Academy of Religion). SBL members might be Jews, Christians, and even Muslims or atheists who study and teach the Bible in any academic setting (Universities, Community Colleges, etc). Theologically this is a very diverse group. Over 10,000 people are expected to attend SBL and AAR.

I am a student member of all three organizations, and I'm so thankful for a way to reconnect with colleagues, further my education, and stay on top of my field—all in one convenient week each year! This is my fourth year attending, and—from an academic point-of-view—the most important week of the year. Those presenting papers include biblical scholars from around the world whose work has been so helpful to me. This is a wonderful opportunity to meet them in person, ask them questions, and learn from them.

Perhaps the thought of leaving home to go listen to scholars read academic papers from morning to night for 6 straight days doesn't excite you. That makes you normal and me weird. I love it. (Though I admit that by day 6 I have a hard time assimilating much of anything!). These conferences are the best possible opportunity for hearing cutting-edge research in biblical studies, networking with other scholars and with publishers, fellowshipping with like-minded friends, and buying lots of books at deep discounts. It's like a reunion, a series of intensive courses, a research trip, and a shopping spree all rolled into one! This year is extra special, though, because it will be a date with my Dad, too.

My parents are coming to Wheaton for Thanksgiving, and they are arriving early enough so that Dad can join me at SBL on Monday. He'll get to see my world and meet scholars and friends who have influenced me. It takes a brave man to agree to sit through papers on Hebrew linguistics, metaphor theory, ancient Near Eastern Covenants and archaeology. Thanks, Dad!

remembering 9/11

I've been caught by surprise twice now at the depth of emotion I still feel remembering 9/11.  Eliana was an infant on that fateful day - alive, but oblivious to the horror that swept the nation as we watched the events play out.  It wasn't until she was in first grade or so that it occurred to me to tell her about that day.  As I told her I couldn't help but weep.  She was suprised to see mommy cry.  I rarely do.

Tonight at dinner it was Emma's turn to hear the story.  She's 6 now, and that must be the magic age of maturity for things like this.  Step by step we walked her through the horrifying events.  Again I cried.

Why does it still feel so raw 10 years later?  Why tears?

I guess it was the biggest world event that had happened in my adult life, or at least the biggest one I witnessed live.  (I do vaguely remember when "The Wall" came down in Germany, but I was not old enough to appreciate its significance.)  I'll never forget the call from my Dad that we should turn on the TV because a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center.  His urgency seemed odd to me.  Planes crash now and then.  It's sad when it happens, but Dad was insistent that we watch.  And watch we did, as before our very eyes the second plane hit the second tower.  It was in that horrifying moment that the sickening truth sunk to the pit of my stomach:

This was intentional.

Panic ensued.  The events unfolded too quickly for us to process them.  The Pentagon crash.  The collapse of the two towers as the pavement swallowed them whole, a living grave for hundreds and thousands of people. The 4th plane crash in a cornfield, an aborted attempt to bomb the White House.  Where will they strike next?

The stunned silence of the next few hours and days was filled with tears, pleas from family members for information on their loved ones, stories of people who should have been in the towers and were not, stories of the brave men and women who had been running up the stairs to their death when everyone else was running down to safety.

Other tragedies have happened in our lifetime, larger ones even.  Tsunamis, hurricanes, earthquakes, wars, shootings, even.  For me, 9/11 was different because it was on our soil, the effects were massive, and it was intentional.  No one knew where it would hit next.  "Terror" came home.  That day a new generation learned that humans are capable of unthinkable evil, and even the invicible United States was brought to its knees.

I'm sure you remember the groundswell of prayer that ensued.  I wish that could have been the most lasting after-effect.  Naturally it gave way to finger-pointing, blame, and a thirst for revenge.  War was inevitable, we just had to locate our enemy (a process that took nearly 10 years!).  Meanwhile, America developed a deep distrust of Muslims from any country.  For me this was equally tragic.  Unfortunately, the line between revenge and justice can be a blurry one. 

I'll always be grateful that we had the opportunity to move overseas shortly afterwards and live among people who looked different than we do.  By the time the third anniversary of 9/11 came around I could count 80 Muslims among my friends.  They gave their children names like Ishmael, Hussein, and yes, even Osama bin Laden.  But I loved them and they loved me back.  I knew I was safe in their community because they were looking out for me.  My one desire was to show them the love of Jesus. 

Did you know that Jesus loves Muslims?  He did before 9/11, and he still does.  We can let our fear or hurt or mistrust build walls between us and the Muslims in our communities, or we can cross the line, extend a hand, and offer the gift of friendship.  It's the only way to reverse the cycle of hatred and revenge.  Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me!

special friends and special gifts

Many special friends helped us celebrate my graduation from Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary.

Phil and Julie (top), Nicole (middle), Kimi (bottom), and many others showered me with gifts ... as if graduating wasn't gift enough on its own!  All the gifts were wonderful, but one deserves special mention.  About 2 weeks ago a package arrived on our doorstep.  It was rectangular in shape, not very heavy, and not very thick.  I tore into it right away, wondering if it could possibly be ... and it was!

'Simeon's Moment' by Ron diCianni
Photo: C Imes

Simeon's Moment, by Ron diCianni, has been my all-time favorite painting since high school.  For 17 years (yes, it's been that long!) I have dreamed of one day having it on my wall.  It depicts the event recorded in Luke 2:22-38 when 8-day-old Jesus is dedicated in the temple.  Simeon, a devout Jew, had a divine appointment with baby Jesus that day.  The Spirit compelled him to go to the temple, and when he laid eyes on Jesus he knew that centuries of expectation were coming to fulfillment in this little child.  Jesus was, in fact, the long-awaited Messiah, sent to be a light to all nations.  The story of Simeon and Anna has been a favorite of mine for most of my life.  I love their unwavering faith in God's promise to deliver His people.  DiCianni captures so well the look of rapturous joy that must have been on Simeon's face. Even in greatest darkness, with no tangible evidence of answered prayers, Simeon and Anna cling to what they know is true of their God.  He is faithful.

This print of Simeon's Moment was a gift from my parents, who were unable to attend my graduation.  They more than made up for their absence with this perfect present, followed by a beautiful letter of blessing.  I feel so loved!